What She Forgot Page 5

  Now the apartment was clean, and empty. Someone had just opened the door. I knew someone was here.

  I turned and closed the door behind me, and then I nearly jumped out of my skin when I realized she was standing behind the door, her gun aimed at my forehead. She was a dead shot, she’d told me the other night. I had no reason not to believe her. I held up my hands, because that’s what a smart man does when he’s facing a crazy woman with a gun, particularly when he’s just let himself into her home.

  “Shelly,” I said calmly.

  “Clark?” she asked. She squinted at me. “I don’t have my contacts in, so you had better start talking.”

  Holy shit. She couldn’t actually see me, but she had a gun pointed at my forehead. “Yes, it’s Clark,” I said succinctly and slowly.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, as she lowered her weapon.

  “Mason didn’t call you?”

  She spoke over a yawn. “I just woke up when some idiot started banging on my door like the building was on fire.” She lowered her weapon and set the safety. Then she put it in the top drawer of the entryway table and closed it with a gentle shove. “What are you doing here?”

  She walked by me going toward the kitchen and I suddenly noticed what she was wearing. Or rather, I noticed her ass, because that was all I could see. She had on a pair of tiny little boy-shorts and a grey t-shirt. She turned halfway toward me and I could read the front. It said, “I never said that. ~Jesus.”

  I’d never seen Shelly looking less than perfectly put together, so this version of Shelly, this was an anomaly. It was like seeing Belle from “Beauty and the Beast” dressed in leather and metal. But quite the opposite. Shelly had morphed from someone I had no desire to touch into someone who made my fingers itch.

  “Did you tell me why you’re here?” Shelly asked as she poured herself a cup of coffee. She lifted it to her lips and blew across the rim, making the liquid ripple. That breath shot straight to the center of me.

  And I couldn’t remember why I was here. “Um…” I scrubbed a hand down my face.

  She arched a brow at me and reached into a kitchen drawer to retrieve a pair of glasses. They sat crooked on her face, but her confusion cleared when she could finally see me. “Oh,” she said, and she rolled her eyes.

  “Oh, what?” I asked.

  She glanced down toward my crotch and then back up, a smile hovering around her lips. “Men are so predictable,” she said. She sat down at the kitchen table and crossed her legs. They went on for miles, it seemed. I jerked my eyes away.

  “Men are not predictable,” I scoffed.

  I started opening her cabinets until I found her coffee mugs. The one I picked up matched her shirt with the Jesus comment. I happened to agree with it, since in my opinion people put a lot of condemning words in Jesus’s mouth that had never been there. I poured myself a cup of coffee while I gathered my thoughts. She said nothing as she sat quietly at the table.

  “Make yourself at home,” she finally muttered. She raised an eyebrow at me.

  “Could you go and put some clothes on?” I asked.

  She smirked even louder. Or at least it sounded loud in my head. I was pretty sure there was no actual sound to it, but inside my brain, it reverberated like a cathedral bell.

  She set her cup on the small table. “Why don’t you tell me why you’re here?” she said succinctly.

  “Mason came by my office to congratulate me on that solved case.”

  Her brow furrowed. “Which one?”

  “The lady who came to my office. You hacked the power company account.”

  She finally nodded. “Oh, yes. That one. Right. It was on the news at midnight. They used your tip and caught him.”

  I slapped my hand on the table. To her credit, she didn’t even flinch. “I didn’t leave a tip.”

  “Sure you did. Two days ago. I told you about it. You’ll probably get a commendation or a thank-you letter or something out of that one.”

  “Shelly…”

  “You did a really good job on that case.”

  “Shelly!” I tried again. “You can’t do that. You have to communicate with me. You have to tell me things and let me decide if they’re things I want to attach my name to. Then you have to respect that decision.”

  “That makes no sense,” she said. “None at all. It was a good tip.”

  “Shelly, you can’t work for me anymore.”

  She glared at me.

  “You’re fired.”

  “I don’t work for you, so you can’t fire me.”

  “If you don’t work for me, then you shouldn’t come to my office.”

  Her face scrunched in confusion. “You have to admit I’ve been helpful.”

  My office had never been cleaner, my invoices had never been better caught up, and she’d even installed virus software on my computer. Along with a game of solitaire. “That’s not the point. You’ve stepped across the line. My reputation is at stake.”

  She pointed toward her chest. “I did?”

  “God, Shelly,” I growled. “You make me so goddamn angry. Do you listen at all?”

  She looked everywhere but at me. “I listen well. I hear everything. I just have trouble understanding how people feel about things, okay? I see the facts and they all make sense to me. But what never makes sense is how people feel. So if you feel something, particularly if you feel something strongly, you’ll have to tell me.”

  “I feel strongly like you shouldn’t be working for me.”

  “Give me one reason why not.”

  I could think of about ten, just to start. “You have invaded my space.”

  “How does that make you feel?” she asked, her voice getting louder.

  “It makes me feel helpless. Like I’m working in chaos. And I hate chaos.”

  Her brows drew together. “Oh,” she breathed. “I’m sorry I made you feel that way. It wasn’t my intention. I just wanted to help.”

  “Why do you want to help so badly?”

  “I want to make Lynn proud of me,” she replied.

  “Lynn is already proud of you.”

  She shook her head. “She’s trying to be. But I constantly see her bracing herself, waiting for me to mess everything up.” She looked vulnerable all of a sudden, and damned if I didn’t like vulnerable Shelly almost as much as I liked kick-ass Shelly. My heart squeezed. “Can I keep working if I promise to talk to you about things rather than just doing them?”

  “Is that a promise you can keep?”

  She nodded.

  I got up, drained the last of my coffee, and rinsed my cup in the sink.

  I suddenly felt like a failure. I’d come here to fire her, and I hadn’t. What was she doing to me?

  “You can’t call in any tips from my cases. But you can come to me with your theories. Then I’ll decide what I will and will not do with them. Do you understand?”

  She nodded vigorously, reminding me of an eager puppy.

  I stuck my hand out and she pressed her palm against mine and shook my hand like she was pumping a well.

  I already regretted my decision.

  “Are you going to work?” she asked, as I walked toward the door.

  “Yes.”

  “What case?”

  “I have to go surveil stuff,” I said, trying to use the same words she’d used before.

  She rubbed her hands together. “Oh, can I go with you? I want to learn to surveil stuff. Please.” She jumped up and danced from side to side.

  “I don’t need help.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Of course you don’t. Give me five minutes to get dressed.” She dashed toward the other room.

  “I suggest something you can run in,” I called to her. She gave me a thumbs-up without turning around.

  I watched her ass as she walked away from me. I was going to regret not firing her. I could already feel it.

  Chapter 10

  Shelly

  Clark didn’t say a word as
we drove across town. Instead, he stared straight ahead and pretended like I wasn’t around.

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  “To surveil stuff.”

  “Where?”

  “At the surveilling location.”

  I turned toward him a little, bending my knee so I could look at him. He had a strong profile, a square jaw, and a five o’clock shadow no matter the time of day. His head was slick and smooth. “Do you shave your head every day?” I suddenly blurted.

  He spun quickly to face me. “Nosy much?” He jerked his eyes back to the road.

  “Was that nosy?” He wasn’t angry, because I could see that a corner of his mouth was quirked up into not quite a smile.

  “Yes.”

  “Is curiosity a bad thing?”

  He suddenly looked at me. “Do you shave your legs every day?”

  I didn’t even have to think about it. “Usually, yes.”

  “And your armpits?”

  I nodded. “Yes.”

  “Am I being nosy?”

  “I don’t know. Are you?”

  He heaved out a sigh. “I was being sarcastic.”

  “Oh.”

  “You couldn’t tell?”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  “My questions didn’t seem too intimate?”

  “Not at all.” Suddenly, the gears aligned in my head. “Was my question about shaving your head an intimate question?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s not like I asked if you shaved your balls this morning.”

  He choked, lifting his hand so he could cough into his fist. “Shelly,” he said on a groan.

  “What?”

  He chuckled. “Don’t ask me about my balls.”

  “You just asked me about my armpits.”

  “Armpits and balls are miles apart.”

  I sat quietly, thinking about what he was trying to explain. “Yes,” I suddenly said.

  He swiveled his head to look at me quickly. “Yes, what?”

  “Yes,” I said. I winced. “Well, I don’t have balls, but I shave that same area. Does that make things seem more even? Now I don’t have to feel bad about asking about your head, right?”

  He shut his mouth, the grin that had been lurking around the corners of his lips suddenly gone. He settled into his seat a little more firmly. He said nothing. Not a word.

  “I just messed up, right?”

  “Yes,” he bit out.

  “Okay.”

  For the next ten minutes, we rode in silence. He said nothing, and I was afraid to say anything at all. I wanted to impress him, not offend him. But I seemed to be much more adept at the latter.

  Suddenly, he flipped on his turn signal and slipped into a parking spot on the side of a busy street. He reached into the back seat and retrieved a ball cap, which he tugged down over his bald head.

  I pointed toward the brim of his cap. “Do I get one of those?”

  He reached back and pulled out another. It was slightly rumpled. I took it from him and pulled it on, gathering my ponytail so my hair would stream out the back.

  “Now what?”

  He opened his car door about an inch. “Be right back,” he said.

  “Where are you going?” I asked, but he was already out the door and striding quickly down the street. Damn, I hated it when I had to chase a man.

  Chapter 11

  Clark

  I got out of the car, mainly because when I sat that close to Shelly, I had an insatiable desire to kiss the shit out of her. She smelled like cherry lip balm and cookies today, and I apparently had a thing for cherry lip balm and cookies, not to mention shaved pussy. I should have just said yes when she asked if I shave my head every day. I could have avoided all that talk about legs, armpits, and other places. But I’m an idiot, and I strode right into the conversation without even giving myself an escape plan.

  Shelly was like no one I’d ever met. I’d dare say she was at genius level when it came to intelligence, but the bitch was unpredictable as fuck. I knew that. And I was still interested.

  I turned left to go into the pawn shop I knew was on the corner of the street. The infrared alarm chimed loudly, announcing my arrival. Two men stood behind the counter, and one of them was scared shitless when he saw me. That was George. He was my guy, and I’d been looking for him for days.

  “Stop!” I called just as George turned and slipped behind the curtain. The other man, his brother, lifted his hands like he was surrendering to the cops and stepped back, allowing me to walk behind the counter toward the curtain. “Who’s back there?” I asked.

  “No one,” he muttered.

  I pulled out my gun and held it up as I shoved the curtain to the side. The hooks rattled and I saw no movement beyond the curtain at all. No movement was never a good sign.

  Light suddenly flooded the room and then a door at the back of the supply room clicked shut. Shit. He was going to get away. I dodged around boxes, bags, and what appeared to be a casket on wheels. You could find some crazy shit at a pawn shop. I hip-checked the bar on the door and shoved it open, holding my gun high, braced by my other hand. I didn’t plan to use it, because I just wanted to talk to the guy, but I also knew I needed to protect myself, particularly in this neighborhood. I scanned left and right, but no one was there. Damn it.

  I holstered my gun and walked quickly around the building. And that was where I found Shelly. She stood over George, who was sprawled on the sidewalk, clearly incapacitated. How that had happened, I had no idea. “What did you do?” I bit out.

  “He ran around the corner of the building, and I assumed he was running from you.”

  And what if he hadn’t been?

  I bent down next to him and checked for a pulse, gratified when I found one beating strong. “What did you do to him?”

  “He tripped.”

  “Over you?”

  “Over his own two feet.” She held up a hand like she was swearing on a bible. “I swear it.” She pointed toward the cameras above us. “Check the surveillance footage. I was just standing guard. I promise.”

  I called 9-1-1 and asked for an ambulance. Then I called the station to let my former boss know I had the man he was looking for. Unconscious. On the ground.

  “I got him,” I said into the phone.

  “I’ll meet him at the hospital.”

  Just then, a couple of detectives pulled up. “Clark,” one of them said, with a nod of his head. He helped the ambulance driver get a good parking spot, and then got in to ride with George to the hospital. He looked back at me. “Thank you.” The door closed behind him and the ambulance pulled away.

  I looked at Shelly. She leaned against the building, her hip resting against the brick, her feet crossed beneath her.

  I motioned for her to follow me to the car.

  I pulled my cap from my head and she did the same, shaking her ponytail free. Her hair was a little darker than Lynn’s, but not by much.

  “You want to tell me what really happened back there?” I asked.

  “I don’t know what you mean.” She stared straight ahead.

  “George didn’t trip over his own feet.” That much I knew for sure. He was wily and nimble as a cat. He’d led me on many a merry chase in the past few weeks. The first night Shelly showed up at my office was only one of the times I’d tried to chase him down.

  “Does it really matter what happened?” Shelly asked. She finally turned her head so that she faced me, her blue eyes startling in their intensity.

  “When he files a suit against us for harassment or endangerment, it will matter.” I put the car in drive and pulled out into the street.

  “Oh,” Shelly said quietly.

  “Is there anything I need to know?” I heaved in a sigh.

  “George didn’t trip over his own feet,” she muttered, her mouth barely moving.

  “What?” I asked. I was afraid I’d just heard her say George didn’t trip over his own feet.

  “G
eorge might have sort of kind of just a little bit tripped over my foot.”

  “Why did he trip over your foot?”

  “I might have stuck it in his path. Maybe. Sort of.” She winced, and it was so damn cute that I wanted to laugh, but I knew it was the wrong thing to do. Not with Shelly. It would just encourage her. “Him hitting his head, though, that was his own fault.”

  I turned quickly to look at her, and caught the rigid pose, like she was waiting for a beheading. “He hit his head?”

  “Yes.”

  “On what?”

  “The side of my fist, the first time. The lamp post, the second time.” She clenched her fist, and that was my first glimpse of her bruised knuckles. I pulled over and parked.

  I picked up her hand and held it gently in mine. “You’re hurt.”

  “Oh, that’s nothing.” She waved her free hand in the air.

  “Is it broken? Squeeze my hand.” She clutched my hand in hers, and a flood of heat shot straight into my gut. “I don’t think it’s broken.”

  “It’s not.” She didn’t pull her hand back.

  “I’ll be right back.” I got out of the car and went into a nearby restaurant, then came back with a bag of ice. I placed it over her swollen fist. “Don’t ever do that again,” I said quietly.

  “I didn’t want him to get away.”

  “How did you know he was who I was looking for?”

  She rolled her eyes. “He came running from the back of the building you’d just gone in. It didn’t take a genius to figure it out.”

  “You could have just let me catch him.”

  She opened her eyes wide and stared hard at me. “Because that was working so well for you. You’ve cornered him no less than eight times in the past six weeks.”

  I pulled back out into traffic. “How do you know that?”

  “I read through all your files.”

  “All of them?”

  “Yes.”

  “Shelly…” I began. But I had no words. Not a single one. “Don’t lie to me again,” I finished lamely.

  “Are there parameters that are acceptable?”